


Falling Back Into Old Habits

by ellies_words



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Break Up, Depression, Drug Addiction, Drugs, Gen, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Relapse, old habits die hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:58:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellies_words/pseuds/ellies_words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So pre-break up, Gerard found himself falling back into old habits. <br/>This is how I imagine it could have gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Back Into Old Habits

It’s not a big deal.

He’s been drinking with friends for ages. He has it under control now. He knows when is a good time to drink, and when he shouldn’t drink, and how much he can drink before it starts to have a detrimental effect.

So when he pops the top off his third beer pre-show, he knows it’s not a big deal.

 

Everything’s started to slip, and he doesn’t know what to do about it. Tensions are popping up in the band. Frank keeps shooting him these looks and making snide comments, Ray has shut off the world with his music, and Mikey is never around. He doesn’t know how to fix it. And he knows it’s his job to fix it. The shows go on as normal, a massive world wide tour and he stands up on the stage and starts to feel like a fake. He’s suddenly conscious of his body in a way he’s never been before. Every movement feels staged and every word sounds forced.

He starts drinking post show too.

 

It’s been a month since he’s seen Lyn, or Bandit, and he misses them like there is a part of his insides missing. Nothing’s functioning right now. Sometimes he can’t move because he can’t seem to get his breath. He calls them one night, and no one answers. He calls five times in a row before Lyn picks up, with an amused, “Gee, we were having a bath.”

He drinks two of the little mini-bar bottles of vodka before he gets off the phone.

 

It’s not that he’s isolating himself, he argues, it’s more that he just can’t bear to be around people anymore. Everything is too loud, too bright, there are too many conflicts in the air surrounding him. He’s blunted the sharp edges of life before and he knows how to do it again.

He starts to keep a bottle of vodka in his bag. A just in case bottle, for when everything is too overwhelming. The first one is empty within a week. The second one doesn’t last 5 days. He stops counting after that.

It’s after a show, somewhere in Europe, and he’s hanging out with some people he used to know from a couple of years ago, when one of them pulls out a bag of weed. He smokes up with them. Everything seems slower, softer and when he gets back to the bus, for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t want to yell and throw things at Frank for no good reason. He doesn’t even react when Frank glares at him, it slides over him, and he just heads to his bunk, lies there and enjoys feeling his mind float in the distance.

He doesn’t go out trying to score anything, but he remembers how to hang around the right people. It’s not a habit or anything, but he’s smoking more days now than he’s not. It’s easier this way. The sharp ache in his chest from being away from Lyn and B for so long is now just a hollow little ball. He can ignore it if he tries hard enough.

 

He stops calling Lyn as often. He still calls to talk to the B, but his conversations with her have been dropping off. He doesn’t have much to say anymore. He loves her, he misses her, but he’s fine, he’s coping and anyway, he’s busy.

The shows are getting messier. Sometimes he finds himself up there and for a moment will have no idea what he’s supposed to do next. He’s taken to drinking a couple of shots of vodka for good luck before the pre-show beers. Just to keep him calm enough. The stage- right he hasn’t felt for almost a decade has come back.

Everything is a little muddled in his head. He doesn’t seem to know how to feel about anything anymore. Often, someone will say something to him, and he’ll wait for an emotional response to kick in, and nothing will happen. He’s getting good at faking smiles and sympathy again. He thinks he’s maybe not as happy as he was a year ago, but he’s definitely happier than he was 6 months ago, so he’ll take whatever side-effects come with that. Including arguments.

Frank confronts him in Europe about his drinking. He walks into the dressing room to see Frank staring at him with hard eyes. “Gerard,” he says, “We’re all getting worried. You haven’t been yourself in months and we know you’re drinking more heavily. Are you sure it’s under control?”

“Yes,” he says, and turns around and walks right back out, snagging his wallet and sunglasses on the way. He walks for thirty minutes to find a bottle shop that won’t be anywhere near fans, buys a bottle of vodka and a packet of mints, and has half of the vodka finished before he starts heading back to the venue. He pops two mints before he walks back in, apologises for holding up soundcheck and says later, privately to Frank, “You know I wouldn’t jeopardise everything we have now by falling back into old habits. I’m stronger than that and my life is worth more than that.”

He finishes the bottle of vodka, and half of the mini-bar, that night at the hotel.

 

Two weeks later, he finds himself hanging around the back end of a dodgy park. Scoring is just as easy as it always was.

That night, the show seems to work properly for the first time in a long time. He doesn’t sign that night though. He hasn’t signed in a long time. He goes straight back to the hotel and pops the two sleeping tablets that were thrown into the deal, washes them down with four little bottles of vodka, and passes out.

When he wakes up, his head is pounding, his mouth tastes metallic and his hands are shaking. He walks into the bathroom, and just looks at himself in the mirror. He skin is washed out, his cheeks and eyes are puffy and his nose is red. He looks grey. He looks like he looked years ago.

He goes back into the bedroom and picks up his phone and calls Lindsey. She picks up on the second ring. “Hey you,” she says with laughter in her voice.

“Lyn,” he whispers, “Lyn, I think I fucked up.”

After he hangs up, he opens the mini-bar and just starts drinking. He doesn’t stop till it’s all gone. He doesn’t know how he can face himself or any of the others without it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking of making this into a longer fic, but for now just wanted to post something. I haven't in years and I feel a little rusty.


End file.
